When Lightning Strikes

Damnit, I was trying to write a blog again.  Let me tell you, I got four paragraphs into this before I realized how HARD I was trying to write this.  I need to STOP that!  Just flow with what comes to me.  I have exciting news, and I’m going to give you guys the short–unstylized–version of the tale.  You know, because it’s honest.

So, if you live in Nashua, then you know we had a CREEPY thunderstorm (I love thunderstorms) two nights ago.  Yeah, the lightning was so close it FREAKED me out.  I wrangled Rhiannon into working on the outline.  We’d come to a point where we were just stumped over the motivations of our villain.  We were seeing all these interesting things about him…

…I’m sorry all.  I really want to continue writing this post … I want to continue writing posts PERIOD …

I just had a phone conversation with my sister, Rosie … turns out … she has cancer.  I’m not sure when I’ll be back.  It might be tomorrow … it might be a month from now.  I’m not sure how the processing is going to go for something like this in my head.  It’s … surreal.

Huh, this title is oddly fitting.  It was SUPPOSED to mean inspiration strikes … which it did … only now there’s real life …

For Crying Out Loud

Maybe I’m just as bad as my sisters.  In the past, I had no problems airing my “dirty laundry” online.  Why not?  All my friends, who only sorta knew my situation would automatically take my side, and I’d have instant support.  Who wouldn’t want to take advantage of something like that?  That was high school for a vast majority of my generation.  (How long is a generation?  Is some of my generation still in high school?  Clearly I still should be.  Not that I want to go back, no thanks.)

So here I am, seven years after high school, and I’m back to pouring my heart out to the world wide web.  I’m not sure how many people read this, as apposed to my LiveJournal days.  I don’t always link these posts, usually when they are on the more private side, but I might link this one … ‘cuz I want it read.  It amuses me to see the cycle.  I’m back where I started, changed, and an all around better person.

What I really wanted to write about was Rosie.  For those of you who don’t know her, she’s my super amazing, down to earth, “crass” (to use one of Rhiannon’s favorite British-English terms), and frank persons I know.  She’s no bullshit, but hardly ever business.  If there was ANYONE in the world who was destined to be a mother, she’s the one.  Her love is firm, but never ending, and motherhood has been her dream for as long as I’ve known her (which has been her whole life).

Last night I got a call from my lovely sister.  Rosie had an eye doctor’s appointment yesterday, and she found out she is almost completely blind in her right eye.  Let me back up a little.  Two years ago in July, Rosie gave birth to my godson, Landon.  After the pregnancy she started seeing silver fish in her right eye, and whoever (not sure if it was a doctor or a post-pregnancy nurse, she told me, but I forgot … I’m a bad brother sometimes) told her it was postpartum migraines.

Rosie has always been delicate, and I mean physically.  If you knew Rosie, you’d know how strong she is.  Always trying to rise above her limitations.  Never truly falling into the victim role she could play (although, understandably, she does have her moments).  She’s used to get in trouble for fighting at school … and I’m pretty sure she’s still in denial about being white–but that’s another topic.  I just can’t stop thinking about how awesome Rosie is, and how awful what is happening to her.

By delicate I mean, Rosie has always been small.  When she was born my mother had to put her in cabbage patch doll clothes.  She was born with a bone disease (inherited, albeit a stronger form of it, from our great-grandmother) called bradydactyly.  She still gets teased about her small fingers, but I don’t know anyone else who can give me the middle TOE!  For the longest time she was afraid of not being able to have kids, because of this, so when she had Landon … it was the best thing I could have hoped for her.  This eyesight loss seems like a cruel trade off.

Turns out, the whoever at the hospital misdiagnosed her.  If it had been postpartum migraines, she would have seen silver fish in BOTH of her eyes, coupled with, you know, an actual migraine.  Now, two years later, her retina is almost completely separated (with little hope of salvaging it) from the back of her eye.  The “worst” part about it … Rosie is pregnant again.  Even if there IS something they can do, they have to wait until AFTER she’s had the baby.

Knowing Rosie, this won’t slow her down at all, but I can’t help bawling my eyes out (definitely no pun intended).  Just the thought of her not being able to see Landon and the coming baby grow up … it’s not something I’m handling very well.  And it also makes me wonder if I can do something about it.  Just the other day Rhiannon was telling me that there is technology in development which can literally PRINT live human organs.  It’s yet another reason why what Rhiannon and I are doing HAS to be great.  There HAS to be something I can do for her.  Maybe not now, but not too far into the future either.

Edward Cullen, Or Why I Hate/Love Myself

First off, let us pretend we didn’t take a two+ month hiatus from blogging.  We shall wipe the slates clean (as we have done SO MANY times before), and we will forge on with our new found vigor.  As for the business pointed at in the title to this post, well, if you haven’t yet been exposed to the Twilight “phenomenon,” then you’re in for a crash course on the hero.

So, Edward Cullen is a tallish, semi-muscular teen heart-throb vampire.  He excels in obsession, stupidity, with a steamy pile of chauvanism to boot, but, even I have to admit, these elements combined create a hawt character.  The fact is dwarfed by how many times Meyer tells us this fact through Bella’s narrative, but I’m not here to rag on Stephanie Meyer … not today. (We love you Meyer.  We really do.  Especially Rhiannon, but I love you too.  I mean, I’m reading them a second time now.)  Conversely, I consider myself.  A not tallish–by any standard–semi-ghetto booty’d twenty something novelist, who excels in inventing words, fancy grammar, and stories.  On the surface, we are nothing alike.

It’s upstairs (in the brain) where we currently correlate … to my great shame, amusement, and luck.  I’m not sure if I am quite there yet, and I won’t use Meyer’s words, but I’ve been hit just as hard as Edward was when he first saw/glared at Bella.  I’m afraid that is as clear as I’m going to get in this post.  We’re getting more private than I usually get, and since it involves another (who might not want this information published all over the internet), that is as far as I dare speak about it to you all.

Another giveaway clue: I’ve written another poem.  Or, I’ve started writing another poem.  I have the first draft done, and a couple ideas floating around for ways of cleaning it up and making it something worth reading.  Every word counts in a poem … and the fact I am THAT motivated to work on the poem … surprises me.

In other news (haha), we finished the rough draft!

“Yeah, a month ago!”

More like 19 days ago.

“Same thing.”

Yep.  We’re excited (and that was all Joey, for those of you who were curious, Rhiannon has had nothing to do with this post … unless you count the Rhiannon in my brain … since we share one.  Yeah).

23 chapters, 600ish pages, 132,000+ words (sorry about the non-exact number, I’m writing from my sister’s place tonight).  It took us just over nine months, and it was one hell of a term.  We had a book, and it’s … well, it needs to go back in the oven for a couple more months, but don’t all babies work that way?

*Ducks as the Mom’s of the world descend upon me*

“ALL BABIES ARE BEAUTIFUL!!!”

Happy Mother’s Day!

*Enables [White-Out Ability] which casts a veil of invisibility over the user for one hour and flees from battle*

Yeah, sorry about the silly mood.  It’s part of that Edward Cullen thing.  I feel like I can be more myself.  I feel like I WANT to be more myself.  Part of that involves putting myself out there.  Exposing how I really feel … not only to those I’m close to, but to everyone.  I want to share how good I feel.  I am NOT willing to do that at the disregard of others’ feelings though … but I had to write about this today.

Hasta la pasta, for now.

P.S. We dive back into writing on the 13th of May.  Why?  It’s the new moon, and what better time to start growing the book than when the MOON starts growing?

Grammar battle

Rhiannimated: ok, I have a question. Does this sentence make sense to you? 90% of all the good music in the world did not happen in the past 10 years.
Joey-seph:  no
Joey-seph: 99% of all the good music in the world did not happen in the past 10 years … is more like it
Rhiannimated: I love you
Joey-seph: haha, I love you too
Rhiannimated: Ryan has been fighting me since yesterday that that sentence doesn’t make sense grammatically
Joey-seph: and, although we don’t agree 100% on music … I think we both can agree … there ain’t much good lately, lol … oh
Rhiannimated: so when you said no , he was like HAH! Then he walked away and you sent the rest
Joey-seph: oh, HAHAHAHAHA!
Rhiannimated: and I burst out laughing
Joey-seph: hehehehe
Rhiannimated: and he came over and read it and just shook his head and walked away
Joey-seph: oh, I am SO glad that just happened

Sorry for the long absence, all! We’ve been busy bees with our day jobs and writing the book and tweeting our Taftkan adventures. Don’t worry, I plan to post weekly updates when I have enough tweets, expanding on why I needed certain buffs or how I ended up banished to Ebwidar with no armor.

“It’s a jungle out there, kitties. Have a very fruitful day!”

Moving out

On March 1, 2010, Ryan and I moved out of the first apartment we shared together to a newer, bigger, shinier place.  The following pictures show the walls of the old place, parts of the new place, and a load of shenanigans in between.  Enjoy

Thanks to Joey, Nicole, Andrew, Mom and Dad for moving us in!

[1]  The beginning of “life on my own.”  I was so excited that I got to write on the walls.  When I found out I was only going to be living there for a year, though, I didn’t end up writing very much.  It seemed like too much work to not take with us, but I’ve at least got pictures of most of what we wrote.

[2]  Andrew’s contribution to the wall from one of my favorite movies, haha.

[3]  Of course I had a Beatles/English corner.  There was a British flag hanging next to these quotes.

[4]  Kelsi wrote, “Seestars Fo-eva!  Whether we like it or not! <3 Kelsi”  I’m sad that these pictures didn’t come out very clear.

[5]  Nicole said, “Your Mom is BATTY (and we love her!)”

[6]  Mom responded, “Yea me ”  My Mom rocks!

[7]  This “Completely logical idea” was for someone to follow Ryan around with a guitar playing a soundtrack to his life….

[8]  Narcisleptic is someone who is narcissistic and narcoleptic: Someone who wants to sleep with themselves but keeps falling asleep.

[9]  This started out as just taking a picture of us under the writing on the wall that says, “Facebook just got simpler January 6, 2009,” but Joey and Ryan are goofballs and enjoy playing with cameras.

[10]  Happiness!

[11]  AAAAAH!

[12]  Wha happened?  (A Mighty Wind reference)

[13]  Hrm, I think I should’ve tried to lick his eyeball…that always freaks him out

[14]  When Ryan came to visit me that weekend, we decided to change our statuses to “It’s complicated,” because I wanted to go out with him, but we still had the distance issue.  Shortly into the trip I realized that distance once again does not matter, and more than that, we’re old enough to do something about the distance now, whereas back in high school, we were stuck.  So on January 6, I asked Ryan if he wanted to make it official and move to MA, he said yes.

Seconds later he geeked out because Joey looked like Johnny Depp from Secret Window.  Now, he looks like Animal:

[15]  I’ll let the hat and mess speak for themselves.

[16]  Hello, Joseph!

[17]  For some reason, Ryan attacked my hair.  I don’t know why he did, but it felt AMAZING.

[18] Grrrrr.

[19]  That felt good

[20]  Really, Ryan?  Must you deflower my Christmas gift from Kari?

[21]  Setting up the essentials at the new place.  Gotta have the computer cuz you gotta have TUNES!

[22]  Look, I found The Guild!  Not that it’s important right at this moment…

[23]  Phone’s ringing…this place is a mess.

[24 ... an alien]  Is it an alien?  Or is it a JOEYMONSTER!  He has at least six eyes!

[25]  Joey has weird timing with the camera…but pretty candle.  I think the orb on my arm is the ghost that was making all that noise!

[26]  Ryan with his feet up, being lazy (kidding!)

[27 ... it waved at me]  Yeah, random foot picture by Joey…

[28]  We got all the furniture organized!  We put as much up against the wall as possible to hopefully block the sound more.

[29]  Look at all the extra room for activities!

When I get everything cleaned up this weekend, I’ll take a few more pictures; hopefully it will be fully decorated, too!  I’m so excited about this new place

Dreams

The other day my sister told me I sounded like a fifteen-year-old girl talking about how I’m going to be famous and rich and have everything I’ve always wanted. It annoyed me, but when I asked myself why, it got me thinking about dreams. Some people don’t dream at all, because they are afraid they’ll never get it and it will hurt more than they could stand. When I started thinking from the perspective, I pulled up the question: What is the worst that can happen from working on these novels with Joey?

The Worst:

One would think the worst that could happen is failing: we never finish the book, nobody wants to publish it or it gets published and no one likes it. That would be pretty bad, but I’d still have the experience of being a novelist, something I never thought I’d actually have. Not to mention, we’re only a few chapters from the end of the rough draft, so I don’t think the first failure, of not finishing the novel, will happen. There is still the chance that no one will publish it or like it, but I find that doubtful.
We’re writing with our contemporaries, much like every time period I ever studied in British, American, or World lit. The classes are all about, “How is this similar to who came before and how is it different?” We are taking what is popular at the time and integrating the elements we like while making fun of the elements that we dislike.
And if no one likes what we write, we still have the experience, one that has brought Joey and I closer together than I thought possible. Which brings me to the absolute worst thing that could happen in this venture, and it could happen before or during publishing: something could turn into a huge argument between us and end our friendship forever.

I don’t think this could possibly happen. If it was going to, I imagine it would’ve happened already. Luckily for us, we’ve spent a lot of time fighting about useless things in the duration of our friendship and have therefore learned how to navigate an argument into something useful; every time we have an argument about the book, the story gets even better.

The Best:

Obviously the best case scenario is that our book catches the world’s imagination and we soar into the consciousness of our audience. That I’ll become a New York Times bestselling author, something I’ve wanted since I read Stephanie Plum and saw that splashed on every one of Evanovich’s books.  And maybe saying things like that does sound naïve. But if I didn’t go after this chance, I would be absolutely insane, especially since the worst that can happen seems so utterly unlikely. Let them say no to us; they can’t take away the artistic genius that has come from our writing partnership or the fun we’ve had along the way.

Oh, Edward *fluttery sigh* (Please don’t shoot me)

Okay, I am about to actually quote Twilight (well, New Moon) and blog about it. I’ll make it short and sweet and hopefully you can all forgive me in the morning.

“You’re impossible,” [Edward] said, and he laughed once a hard laugh, frustrated. “How can I put this so that you’ll believe me? You’re not asleep, and you’re not dead. I’m here, and I love you. I have always loved you, and I will always love you. I was thinking of you, seeing your face in my mind, every second that I was away. When I told you that I didn’t want you, it was the very blackest kind of blasphemy.”

That sentence sums up exactly why almost every ‘tween, teen and twenty-something is in love with these books, with Edward. Every break up we’ve ever had, we’re left wishing that person would come back and say these words to us. And I burst into tears right along with Bella.

On a personal note, I identify more with Edward in this scene than Bella at the moment, though I’ve been in her position at least three times. Because about five years ago I broke up with Ryan, for a myriad of reasons, but mostly because he lived in Pennsylvania and he was a Junior in high school and I was a Freshmen in college. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him, but it wasn’t working then, never seeing each other. But, I got Edward’s ending here. We’re older, we have control over our lives and we have each other. My Junior year of high school, I dreamed and dreamed of being with Ryan forever. I think 16-year-old Rhiannon would flip if she knew she’d be living with him in her 20s!

How Swiftly Now Dark Closes In

by Greg Davis

How swiftly now dark closes in
and runs it’s fingers through our hair,
as shades of purple soon begin
to permeate throughout the air.
I must admit I was surprised
to find the lamps alight so soon,
like candle light, encapsulated,
beneath the rising of the moon.

How swiftly comes the wind so cool,
down from the north and from the sea,
that lingers over muddy pools
and wraps it’s tendrils around me.
I did not hear the wind crash down,
I only felt it’s creeping chill.
It flies about without a sound
and silently it sweeps each hill.

How swiftly do the trees turn red
and cast the green from all their leaves,
a golden crown upon their head
that dances with the autumn breeze.
I did not see the leaves let go
and throw their verdant youth away,
caught in the rolling ebb and flow
of autumns brisk and windy day.

How swiftly now do all things die.
How swiftly do the flowers fade
and pass away with gentle sigh,
as in a sea of leaves they wade.
I did not notice death draw near,
he moves about so quietly,
his tender call I did not hear
his gentle face I did not see

This wonderful poem comes from a friend on mine on Facebook. He is a fantastic poet, and I love the melancholy in this poem. He was gracious enough to let me re-post it here for you all to enjoy. The imagery he uses sparks my mind. I wonder if this is about lost youth, or lost love. A friendship maybe.

Ah, breathe in and enjoy the emotion.

Riding the Wave?

Today began like most other days.  I woke up around 9:30am (a bit early for me on a day off), but not too unusual.  I don’t regularly wake up at any hour.  So I hop onto the computer.  Check my email and tweets.  I notice Rosie and Sandra (my little sisters) have tweeted some enigmatic notices for those interested.  I knew something was up and intended to call Rosie later.

I chat with Branden for a while, and we make tentative plans for that evening.

I wrote the next batch of Chapter Five of the book Rhi and I are so feverishly trying to finish draft one of by the 21st of September…a day that means many things.  It’s Rhiannon, Phil (my brother), and Emily’s (my niece; Sandra’s daughter) birthday.  It is also the symbolic first day of autumn, my favorite season, and it just so happens to be the day the next Mika album comes out.  Anyway, I digress.

I was ready for a break in writing.  I took the short walk over to Shaw’s Supermarket looking for inspiration for dinner.  I picked up a few pieces of fruit I like.  Got two desserts for myself and my mother at the bakery, then wandered over to the meat department.  It was sitting there – gleaming in it’s cellophane wrapping – begging to be taken home with me.  How could I refuse such a perfectly beautiful roast?  But the size of it, nearly five pounds.  Was is possible to slow cook this in time for dinner?  It was eleven thirty.  I asked the meat guy and he said 6-8 hours.  We’re late eaters, my mother and I, it would work.

When I get home, the first thing I do is put the roast in the crock pot.  Inspiration comes to me.  I don’t want to just fill the pot with water.  I want to give this roast some flavor.  I open all the cabinets – smelling and tasting spices and sauces and broths – OH me, oh my, such choices.  I go with my first instinct and add equal amounts of organic canned apple juice and water, rosemary, two bay leaves, and I season the roast with salt and pepper.  The fragrence, by the way, is amazing right now…I can’t wait to devour this roast.  Around 3:30 I’ll add the potatoes and carrots.  This should be a nice meal.

Back in my room I crack open the one and only Pepsi I’ve allowed myself to purchase today and sit back down at the computer.  I talk to Branden again and it seems he won’t be able to get together with me until later that night, and I had a sudden strong urge for Mommy-time.  I’d been neglecting her lately, and I knew it.  Whenever people come over we’re usually holed-up in my room.  Rhiannon and I are usually hard at work, and I usually keep my door shut nightly as a courtesy (I listen to music a bit too loud to leave my door open).  It has been about a month since Mom and I have had some “us” time.  We like our “us” time.  SO I cancel with Branden and we decide another time is best.

Then, before I get started writing again, I decide to call Rosie to see what was up.  I found out what she was stressed about, a private matter I don’t think appropriate to bring up here.  Although I will say that it ended with her telling me that Mom wanted her to come over tonight with Landon (my godson, Rosie’s son).  How lucky for her that I got such a large roast!  How lucky I just so happened to clear off my schedule to hang out with Mom tonight and be free to be there for her!  It was almost as if divine providence was guiding me through such a great day as it has been for me.  Giving me the urge to cook real food, then finding the perfect match to what will be a nice end of the day.

After I got off the phone with Rosie I called Mom at work.  I got some more of the specifics of Rosie’s problem then told her about how neat it was that my day had inadvertently made it so tonight would be as pleasant as could be for the four of us.  She laughed and agreed, because she intended to do a little grocery shopping this morning, but got called into work early!  What another nice coincidence.

Now, I sit here wondering…is this what they mean by riding the wave of life?  Is this what they mean when they say go with the flow?  Have I handed my life over to a higher power?  Sure, the events of today were mundane, but it is still nice to see how connected everything seems when you’re not stressed and just letting life play with you…instead of playing with life.  I am full of so much inspiration today; I will be surprised if I get any sleep tonight.  I may write until I can’t move anymore.  It is such a grand feeling.

Eyes Look Your Last

So, I’ve epically failed at quitting smoking lately.  Just thought I’d put that out there.  This entry is being written because I’m ill-contented with my life as it stands (“Aren’t we all!” screams the guy in the back row).  I don’t want to divulge everything, because I feel like that would be complaining and I really have nothing to complain about.  The reason I’m not happy right now is plain and simple:  I’m not the person I’d hope to be at this point.

Just to be clear, this has nothing to do with the goals I have for my life.  This has nothing to do with writing, or becoming a best selling novelist, celebrity or any of that.  None at all.  I’m happy where I am and where I’d headed with my career.  It’s my personal life I’m not satisfied with.  Here’s a regular conversation I have with myself:

“You should go to the gym,” the Angel on my right shoulder says while I suck in my gut.

“That requires getting into gym clothes” I respond, “and you either look great or you look FAT-AS-HELL in gym clothes.”

“If you go to the gym, then you WILL look good in gym clothes,” says the Angel.

“Yes, but that doesn’t help the fact that I look FAT-AS-HELL now.”

“Besides,” says the Devil on my left, “then you’d also have to shower, and none of your gym clothes are clean.  You wear them to bed you know…and they smell like it.”

“He has a point,” I say.

“You know that’s bull shit,” says the Angel.

“I know.  But as soon as I go back into my room I won’t care.”

Or some other such silliness.  It’s always about my weight, smoking, or being single.  And in a way they are all connected.  I don’t even think about not liking my job anymore, because I know I’m working towards that with my writing.

I titled this entry ‘Eyes Look Your Last,’ because that’s what I hope to do very soon.  See the last glimpes of the fat, lazy, room rat.  90% of my computer time is wasted time.  Writing this blog, however, is not included on that list.  I want to write more blogs.  I spend a lot of time on the computer just looking useless shite up.  For the first time in a long time I want to trash my room…but this time not trash it in rage…just get rid of all the things that I don’t want in my life anymore.  Something inside aches for me to put off that task, though.  One day at a time, I know…but here’s to hoping.